


Unmoored

by writingonpostcards



Series: Tumblr Ficlets - Check, Please! [9]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Concussions, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Jack has to miss a few games for a concussion. Everyone assumes it’s from a game, but it’s actually a sex injury.





	Unmoored

**Author's Note:**

> based off [this prompt](https://iamneversleepingagain.tumblr.com/post/157930841338/heres-a-promptthat-im-just-gonnaleave-here)

Having sex across the hallway of his foyer was not what Jack had anticipated when he texted Bitty telling him he’d spent a half hour in the shower edging himself. But beggars can’t be choosers, and honestly, Jack’s not certain he’d be able to choose anything else right now, seeing as how his entire vocal ability has confined itself right down to variations on “fuck” and “yes” and Bitty’s name.

Jack’s panting, and sweaty, and desperately ready for Bitty to just touch him so he can come already, but also, he wants to hold out. Bitty looks so good above him, thrusting into him deep and hard and over and over, face flushed, lips swollen, hair matted against his forehead, bite mark on his collar. Jack wants to. He doesn’t think he can.

Bitty’s refusal to touch him means they’re largely un-moored to anything, and Jack’s sweat is pooling under him. With every thrust, he slips further down the corridor, closer to the doorway Bitty had marched through several minutes ago, shirt halfway off before Jack knew what was happening. He’s going to have carpet burn. It’s going to itch like hell for days. He just. doesn’t. care.

Bitty thrusts again. Jack is moved along. It’s _frustrating,_ this coming together and moving apart, Jack can’t kiss Bitty, and Bitty only sometimes manages to get his lips near Jack’s chest. Jack’s hands can’t stop his movement, and he doesn’t want Bitty to stop his. It’s frustrating, but so goddamn good. He feels _so good_.

He tells Bitty, and Bitty smirks, thrilling and hard like it comes out sometimes when Jack’s beneath him. Jack loves it, loves this, loves how _into_ it Bitty is. In control, and driven by need, not worrying about whatever manner of things he manages to squish into his brain on a regular day. 

Bitty’s pace picks up, and Jack’s riding his pleasure with little thought to how close he’s getting to his front door. When Bitty’s eyes flutter in that way Jack has come to recognise, he can tell Bitty’s orgasm is forthcoming. 

Bitty slams into Jack, and moans loud, long, dirty. At the same time, Jack’s head slams into his front door. The crack as the slab of wood moves inside it’s frame is covered by Bitty’s groan, who with his eyes shut, can’t see the collision.

Jack doesn’t care.

His head slams into the door again, as Bitty thrusts over, over, over into him, and he just doesn’t care. It’s another sensation, another thing to feel, another pressure on his body that while unconventional isn’t a deal breaker in his arousal. In fact, the edge of something different, and seeing Bitty lost in his orgasm, is heady. 

He’s horny, he wants to come, has been wanting to for hours now, and Bitty’s there, coming right in front of him, _in_ him, and Jack’s almost there and then, Bitty touches him and it hits him.

He slams his own head back against the door and presses it there. He throbs all over. His back, his ass, his dick, his head. Throbbing with his release. It feels damn good.

He comes down, breathing heavily, and Bitty pulls out, equally out of breath.

“Shit.” Bitty states.

Jack laughs weakly, worn out, messed up, aching.

-

Jack has trouble sleeping that night. His head keeps pounding, long after the carpet burn on his back fades to a mild irritation. He resigns himself to feeling exhausted at practice tomorrow, shuts his eyes, and goes through plays in his head.

He stumbles out of bed in the morning, feeling decidedly off-center, and attributes it to the lack of sleep, and thorough fucking of last night. It isn’t until he’s on the ice during practice that it becomes an issue.

They’re doing simple agility drills, and Jack flubs on a sequence he could normally do in his sleep. He skids awkwardly and fails to coordinate his limbs into stopping his fall. He collides heavily with the boards, and then ricochets back onto the ice, his head thunking down at speed, sending a sharp pain down his spine. He winces and rolls onto his back. The pressure of the helmet against his head exacerbating the headache that hasn’t faded since last night.

He tries to get himself up and falls right back down again after his head spins so much he’s not sure which way is forwards.

He’s taken to the medical room and after some testing, its decided. Jack has a concussion.

“It’s a severe reaction to your fall, Jack,” Dr. Grady tells him. “I wouldn’t normally be diagnosing concussion from that type of incident.”

Jack would nod, but he’s trying not to move his still aching head.

“My best guess is that you were already mildly concussed previous to your fall this morning, and the fall just made it worse. Do you know of anything that might have contributed?”

Jack knows what it was. Worked it out as soon at the word ‘concussion’ had slipped past Dr. Grady’s mouth when she measured his pupil dilation.

Concussions come from head injuries, and last night, Jack let himself get pounded against his front door, head taking the brunt of Bitty’s entire focused energy. Repeatedly.

Of course, he’s not going to admit that to anyone, so he mumbles some vague excuse and accepts his time off with grace, dismounting the table and leaving the room with as much elegance as his uncoordinated limbs offer.

Dr. Grady doesn’t want him driving home and so it’s with dread that Jack waits for his teammates to finish up practice so he can get a lift home.

“Zimboni,” Tater booms, the first to come into the locker room, followed closely by Marty. “Why you not come back to practice? Miss you on ice.”

“Concussion. I’m out of commission for at least ten days.” Best to get it over. Like a band-aid. Hopefully the team assume it’s just from the hit this morning, and don’t call up Jack on the mismatched result of cause and effect. Jack can’t for the life of him (or more accurately, the pride and dignity of him) remember the excuse he told Dr. Grady. He wants to avoid giving a contradictory story if he can.

Thankfully, after receiving mixed looks of pity and concern from his teammates, the issue is dropped.

-

Marty drives him home. Jack’s lonely with no Bitty and most of his regular activities banned for ten days. He falls asleep lying on the couch, and only wakes when Bitty comes over and presses a damp cloth to his forehead.

“Hey, honey,” Bitty kisses him. “Heard you got a concussion.”

Jack hums in agreement.

“How does your head feel?”

“Fine.”

Bitty gives Jack a look that tells him he’s not buying it.

“Marty says you ran face first into the boards then crashed onto the floor,” Bitty states. “You sure you’re fine?”

“Worth it,” Jack mumbles, thinking not of his epic stack this morning, but of the sex last night.

“I highly doubt that,” Bitty feels around Jack’s head gently. “But at least you’re in one piece.”

Jack flinches when Bitty presses down against the sore spot, the one that is now very familiar with his front door.

Bitty sighs, and reapplies the cloth to Jack’s forehead, brushing the back of his hand against Jack’s cheek as he pulls away.

“Must have been going real fast to give yourself a bump that bad. Sure you were wearing your helmet?” Bitty teases with a smile.

“I wasn’t.”

“Jack! You weren’t wearing your helmet?” 

Jack pulls the cloth off his forehead to sit up. Bitty stays down on his knees by the head of the couch.

“I wasn’t going that fast. I was just already concussed.” Jack admits, flushing.

Bitty frowns. “I think I would’ve known if you were concussed.”

Jack shakes his head. “Only happened last night.”

“Last night?” Bitty looks lost.

“From the, uh, sex.” Jack clarifies.

“P-pardon? Bitty stumbles over the words, eyes widening. 

“Yeah, Bits,’ Jack smiles wryly. “You fucked me against the front door. I hit my head. A lot.”

Bitty looks so horrified. Jack tries to reach out to cup his cheek and misses, hand landing heavy on his shoulder instead.

“Dear lord, are you… You’ve got… You’ve got a concussion because of sex?”

Jack nods.

“Please tell me you did not tell the guys,” Bitty demands after taking in Jack’s confession.

“I didn’t.”

Bitty sighs out, obviously relieved, and gets up onto the couch with Jack.

“Thank the lord. They’d be chirping you until you’re dead.”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the team do find out somewhere down the line, and yes, Jack gets chirped for eternity. Plus it becomes like a weird secret/rumour that the entire NHL know, yet it somehow manages to stay away from the press.  
>  “Hey, remember when Jack got named Captain of the Falconers, and then like three weeks later missed those Nevada games?”  
>  “Yeah, I remember. He had concussion. Poor guy.”  
>  “Sure, but like, man, it wasn’t just any old concussion. It was a sex concussion. Dude went too hard, or something.”  
>  “But… how?”  
>  “That’s the thing. No-one knows”.
> 
> originally posted to [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/post/158324117081/because-iamneversleepingagain-is-apparently)


End file.
